


I'm Sellin' My Soul to the Devil In You

by richcreamerybutter



Series: And it's Raging Out of Control [1]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Repugnant (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender Neutral, Graveyard Sex, Halloween, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Public Sex, Reader Insert, Vaginal Sex, but disgusting mary too, choose your own sex, depending on which chapter you read, soft mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27300628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richcreamerybutter/pseuds/richcreamerybutter
Summary: You're taking Mary to a Hallowe'en party so he can meet your friends for the first time. En route, though, he spots the most gorgeous little church yard ...There are two separate chapters for the good bit so you can pick your poison - or indulge in both, why the hell not?
Relationships: Mary Goore/Reader
Series: And it's Raging Out of Control [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079327
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. This is Hallowe'en

**Author's Note:**

> OK, here's another experiment ready for Hallowe'en! Thanks as usual to CopiasWitch for being the smut beta on something a little different!
> 
> Much like Charlie in One Way Ticket, the reader doesn't have any pronouns, but due to the nature of the story I've had to prescribe them parts so I can write those bits. So the first chapter is the preamble BUT:
> 
> P - the story continues with the reader having a penis  
> V - the story continues with the reader having a vagina (boobs are also mentioned but depending on feedback I could scrap those!)
> 
> We'll see how we go. I just love what I did with Charlie and wanted to find a way to do a similar thing with smut, too.

'You said you were going to surprise me.'

You can't say much else as you stare at Mary. You're standing in his doorway as he scrabbles through a pile of unopened mail for the key to his apartment, and he's dressed exactly the way he dresses for Repugnant shows. He looks up at you when he retrieves it, and grins.

'Well, you look pretty damn surprised right now, I gotta say,' he says.

You fold your arms. To be fair, you can't pretend you've put much effort in yourself. You've done the classic raid of your wardrobe to assemble a costume out of stuff you already own. It was easy enough: jeans, a pair of cowboy boots you wear to rock clubs when you're feeling particularly ostentatious, and a plaid shirt. The pea coat you've had to wrap around yourself for warmth spoils things a bit, but you'll find a safe place for that later. There is literally no point even bothering with a cowboy hat. Some dickhead will nick it at some point.

It isn't as though you're fully committed to this party, anyway – it's more just habit these days. Alex has been throwing some kind of get-together since you first met in college, and the nature of it shifts every year to accommodate where you are in your lives. This year it's a straightforward enough house party, which would be OK, but it's the first time you've had a plus one to introduce to your friends and you're not keen on the idea of navigating that eventuality with an extra mass of people you barely know yourself.

And your plus one promised he was going to go all out with his costume, but right now, he is literally standing in front of you in his work uniform, shrugging the skankiest old leather jacket on over his Morbid Angel t-shirt.

'Like your costume isn't the laziest fucking thing you could've come up with,' he says, shifting you out of the way so he can lock the door. You do try not to spend too much time in Mary's horrible apartment anyway. 'You can't talk.'

You open your arms in outrage. 'I did this for you, you shit! I thought you'd get it!' He just stares at you, and you affect his gutteral vocal style for a dire impersonation of him. ' _Voices of the deeeeeaaaad_?'

It makes him chuckle. 'Fuck. Sorry. I forgot I did that …'

He reaches for your hand absently, and you link your fingers through his as you start walking.

'Is it far?' he says.

'Twenty minutes? Just out of town past the school.'

'Oh! You have posh friends,' Mary says, and you can't quite tell if he's impressed or expressing a sarcastic sort of disdain.

'They aren't _posh,_ they just have … more money than I do,' you say. 'It's bank of Mum and Dad sort of stuff, though.'

'So they have money _and_ they come from wholesome family backgrounds? Right. Now I see why you've never introduced me to them before. We aren't gonna get on, are we?'

The truth is, they probably aren't. These friends are your friends because of a shared history – they were there when you experienced your first, stupid heartbreak, when you lost your mother in a car crash, and when you binged an entire cheesecake that one breaktime at college. They were also there to rub your back as you threw it back up again later. And it's these quirks and stories that keep you solid, even after your paths in life diverged and some of them married and had kids and some of them were given entire houses by their parents who could afford to dole out property.

And some of them still work in the same bar they've worked in since they were twenty-one, while studying photography part-time to make up for the shitshow college ended up being for them, and are dating some absolute gremlin whose band played there earlier this year.

'Look,' you sigh, 'I just need you to behave yourself for the night, all right? You and them aren't going to be natural bedfellows or anything, but they're my friends and you're my –'

You cut yourself off, and Mary lets go of your hand to slide his into your jeans pocket and squeeze.

'I'm your what?' He leans right in and you can smell the whiskey he's no doubt shotted to get himself pumped for such an uncomfortable night.

'Well.' You give a huge swallow – there's a weird lump in your throat, all of a sudden, that's tricky to shift. 'If I were to introduce you to someone, what would you want me to say? _Hey Alex, this is Mary, my …_?'

He digs his nails into your ass, and you hiss.

'Fuck puppet?' he teases. 'Beau? Squeeze? _Better half?_ Are we there yet? Is that what you've been telling people?'

'Stop it,' you say. 'I'm serious. I don't know what I'm _supposed_ to tell people.'

'And you really want to have this conversation on the way to a Hallowe'en party?'

You shift a little, trying to lean away from him, but he grips your ass harder still and you submit. 'Of course not. I just want to be able to introduce you to my friends without pissing you off, that's all.'

'Fine. In that case, I guess you can say boyfriend for now and we'll discuss what I actually am after the party …'

He nuzzles into your neck, and you think he's being affectionate until you feel the nip of his teeth. ' _Oi._ Mary. Not now, yeah? The last one just healed and I don't want to rock up to a party with a proper brand new one …'

'Well, that would be your problem. If you'd brought a neckerchief …' Mary mumbles, but he makes do with a kiss instead before straightening up again. 'Some fucking John Wayne you are, huh?'

'Again. You promised me a surprise. Dressing as _you_ is not a surprise.'

'It was the last thing you were expecting, though!'

'I'm still pissed off.' But you aren't. You're still sort of reeling from Mary's use of the word 'boyfriend' – even if there's a chance he might retract it later. He removes his hand from your pocket and it slips against the bag you have slung over your shoulder.

'Hey. You've brought your real camera!' he says.

'None of my cameras are _pretend,_ Mary.'

'You know what I mean. The – SLR?' You nod, with some genuine pride. 'That's a big one for a casual party?'

'There's a lot of fun to be had with Hallowe'en backdrops and costumes,' you say. 'I think Alex sort of wants me to be a roving photobooth. At least that'll give me some focus when I hardly know anyone.'

'So I'm going to be your caddy,' Mary grumbles.

'You will literally prefer that to mingling with my lovely normie friends.'

'So you understand why I'm wondering why we even agreed to come to this party.'

You do understand. When you consider it, you know you'd feel awkward in his position. Even if he does exude a massive amount of arrogance, he's not crazy about socialising with a load of strangers at once, and you know that. But once tonight is out of the way, he'll be able to blend into your life with a lot more ease. And, perhaps more pressingly, when you talk to your friends about 'Mary' they'll have a much clearer picture of the little hellion. Right now, you're pretty sure they imagine a clean-cut girl in a frock, no matter how many times you tell them he is in fact a man you met when he almost concussed you at work with a pint glass.

By accident. You're pretty sure.

The outskirts of town are making way for the telltale detached houses and double garages of rich villagers. Land Rovers and Jaguars abound, and you feel out of place already. You slide an arm under his jacket and wrap it around his tiny waist. 'We don't have to stay all night,' you say quietly. 'I don't think I'll last that long anyway knowing you're going to be holding back that hickey the whole time.'

'I'm glad you haven't forgotten about that, because I haven't, either. I wonder if we can make it part of the photobooth thing … tell people we used makeup … hey!' He stops in his tracks, distracted, and you follow his gaze. You're approaching a village green, all tree-lined picture-book serendipity, with a small, 12th century (you'd guess, but like hell you'd know) church lying just beyond in its own graveyard. 'How fucking … perfect is that? Do we have time to explore? There'll be no one around, right?'

'Hm. Yeah, I'm not convinced graveyards are where most people choose to spend their Hallowe'en nights,' you say. Thank God it's a little too late for trick or treaters to still be roaming. 'Ten minutes?'

You've never _quite_ found yourself as fascinated with death as Mary, but his excitement does excite you.

'Get your camera out, this is gonna be great.' He grabs your hand again and pulls you across the green, kicking damp leaves out of the way with his nasty combat boots.

The church is a vision, you have to concede. The sky is clear, stars and a Hunter's Moon visible beyond the spire and the huge, weeping willow that stands amongst the old graves. It almost makes you want to believe in God or something.

' _Fuck_ …' Mary whispers. 'How have I never been here before?'

'Maybe because you're not fancy enough to ever have set foot in a village?' you suggest. 'And don't say “fuck” in a graveyard. It sounds wrong somehow.'

'What, you getting all high and mighty on me now, baby?' he says. 'Is it wrong to take photos in graveyards, too?'

You shrug. The church, and the graves, all seem old enough that you think you can get away with it, and the church really is a thing of beauty in and of itself. But you have a feeling Mary has his own vision, and he wants you to help him realise it. You check your phone. Yeah, you can afford to spend a bit of time getting a few night shots. You don't have your tripod but as long as no one sees you using a gravestone instead …

Mary has moved toward the giant willow tree. 'This,' he says, holding his arms out to encapsulate as much of it as possible. 'Yeah. Perfect. Can you take some pictures of me here?'

There are a smattering of large gravestones just underneath the weeping branches. 'Just … sit on that one,' you say, pointing at the largest. If you were with anyone else you wouldn't ask, but you're starting to realise Mary doesn't really have the same standards of decency as anyone else. Mary looks at you, pointing at the stone, and you nod, so he hops up onto it. 'Maybe bring one foot up on top and hold on to your leg … yes! I know it feels really uncomfortable but it'll look good, I promise.'

It already does. You do get the slightest twinge in your jeans as you retrieve your camera and perch it on a memorial bench – much more dignified than an actual gravestone – to play with the settings. There's going to be a bit of work to do in Photoshop afterwards if Mary can't keep as still as the monuments around him, but you manage to get a decent enough test shot.

'Right, look down for me,' you say, and he obliges. You notice his smirk. 'Stop smiling! It'll look better. Look pissed off. I mean angry.'

'Still not swearing in a graveyard? God. You are too fuckin' precious.' But he's quick to pout, emphasising those full, shapely lips that have brought you so much pleasure since the first time you kissed them in the alley behind your bar …

 _Nope._ Not what we're here for tonight. 'Great, now try … try looking up at the branches just over your left shoulder.'

'Still sitting like this?'

'Yep yep.'

'But it's cutting my ass in half.'

'One more minute, I promise.'

It's less, in fact, but when you tell Mary he's good to slip off, he does so with a giant moan.

'Fuck … it hurts more getting off it,' he says, rubbing his sore behind. You notice, for the first time, that he's wearing the jeans with the rip right across the back.

'You'd better be wearing good underwear,' you tut, and he sticks his tongue between his teeth cheekily, running a slow hand down his ass cheek and back up over the slit in his denim.

'You can come over here and check for yourself, if you want,' he says.

'No, I need you in the branches now,' you say. If you pretend you don't want to take him up on his offer, you might get to this party on time. You direct him to the perfect position again, have him wind one arm into the tendrils of the willow, and get a few more shots where he's partially obscured, between two ornate gravestones, by branches. The more you get into this, the less bothered you are by the location – you doubt many people frequent the place, anyway. There are no new gravestones in the immediate vicinity, and you reason that at least you're appreciating its beauty.

'Baby, you've got a timer on that thing, right?' Mary says, when you let him drop the branches.

'Uh – yeah, why?'

'Why d'you think? Get over here. I want to get some good pictures of us.'

 _Us?_ There aren't many photos of you and Mary. Certainly not many fit for public consumption. He keeps them on his beat-up iPhone and you trust that that's where they stay, but you don't know for certain.

'Is this because you've given me permission to say you're my boyfriend?' you say, and he raises his eyebrows.

'You just look fuckin' good tonight,' he purrs. 'And so do I. And so does this place. Now lose the coat, put the fuckin' timer on and get over here …'

You've got ten seconds. You set the timer then hot-foot it over to him, still semi-entwined in the willow branches. He catches you in his arms, winding them both around your waist, and leans into your neck again.

' _Don't bite_ ,' you hiss, right before you hear the faint _click_ of your camera.

'I won't,' he assures you. 'I just need it to look like I am. Go and set it again.'

How are you the photography buff, but you're taking orders from _him_? You have to concede there's something about him when he's in this sort of mood: you do as you're told, and rush back again into the same position. Only this time, Mary roughly unfastens a couple of buttons on your shirt before burying his face in you. _Ooh._ You can't suppress the tiniest moan when his teeth graze your neck.

' _Mmm_ … you like that, baby?'

_Click._

He doesn't move. Just licks your neck, then moves downwards to the part of your chest he's exposed to kiss and nudge at you there, too.

'I'm not saying I _don't,_ per se … but d'you really want photos of this?' you mumble. He's scrabbling for the next button down with one hand, the other still pawing at your waist. He grunts.

'Maybe. Or maybe photos won't do you justice. Which is it?' Finally, he pops the button, and his hand slips under your shirt, bringing out a sharp gasp. 'OK?'

'Your hand … it's _freezing._ '

'Shit. Sorry. Are you warm enough? C'mere …' Mary pulls you to him, trying to envelop you in his leather jacket. He doesn't fill it but you're bigger than he is, and the two of you together are a tight squeeze. 'Mmm. Yes. That's it …'

He grinds against you, and you aren't surprised in the slightest by the bulge in his jeans. 'Mary?'

He kisses you hard. 'Sorry. Just … there's something about graveyards. You know me.'

You sigh. Of course you know him, and part of you was pretty sure that coming here with him was going to prompt a reaction like this. It says a lot about you, too, that you went in anyway. You wind your fingers into his hair and pull him to you, covering his mouth with yours and sucking his tongue in. You kiss like this, hot and hungry, for a minute or so until Mary wrenches himself away unexpectedly.

'Baby, are you sure you're warm enough?' he says.

Honestly? You'd forgotten about the cold. 'Positive,' you gasp.


	2. P

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the chapter title explains it all I guess

'Good.' Mary dives to your chest, and this time he doesn't give a shit about taking care with your shirt. You feel at least one of your buttons pop off as he rips it open, exposing your entire torso. You moan as he kisses your chest. 'Oh, baby. Tell me if you get too cold.'

You barely hear him, his words muffled by your chest. 'I'm fine,' you breathe. 'I just … the party …'

'Oh, fuck the party. We turn up whenever and tell them we got lost …' His hands nudge at your arms. You still have your hands in his hair, but you move them for a second so he can help you shrug off your shirt. He tosses it onto the nearest gravestone. It's less than a second before he's sucked a nipple hard into his mouth, and you let out another little hiss. His warm, wet mouth is welcome respite from the chilly night air, and that's not to mention how hard your nipples are already.

'Fuck,' you say, and you're pretty sure you're admitting defeat. 'Bite me. Mary. Please …'

He tuts. 'Swearing in a _graveyard_ ...'

He needs no more encouragement. It stings, and you know the mark is going to be angry as fuck, but once you're dressed again only the two of you will know it's there. ' _Yes_ …'

He pulls away slightly, a purr in his throat. 'Oh, yeah, that's it,' he says. 'Bruising up perfectly for me already.' He pulls you tight into his jacket again, hands back at your waist, mouth back on yours. You get the impression he's taking a moment to make sure you're warm enough, and it's appreciated: you can't tell him how much when your tongue is dancing with his, but you can rub one hand over his crotch, massaging his growing erection so that he moans into your mouth. It makes you twitch, too – you've got to be almost fully hard by now. You keep stroking. You've seen his cock a thousand times, taken it in every orifice you have that you can think of, but there's still something extra tantalising about the way it feels through his jeans. The mystery, the anticipation of the whole thing. Especially outside and especially at night.

There's a sudden urge to check you aren't being watched – you twist away from him, glancing around the graveyard, and Mary frowns. 'You OK?'

'Fine,' you say. 'I just – oh, it doesn't matter …'

'Hey. It does.'

He doesn't need to ask. He just guides you both beneath the willow branches, mostly hidden from view. Even if there was someone else in the graveyard they would have to be seriously looking if they were going to notice you now, and it does put your mind at ease. And, as much as you know Mary would never admit it, it does the same for him, too. You feel it in the urgency he pushes you back against the tree trunk with, pinning your wrists up above your shoulders with one hand as he moves to kiss you again. First on your mouth, then jaw, neck, chest … hovering at each nipple … there's just about enough of a stretch in his arm for him to bend his knees and, with his free hand, unfasten the front of your jeans.

'Fuck … Mary …' The release of pressure on your erection is so satisfying, but you want his touch so badly.

Holding you in place is too awkward. He releases your arms so he can kneel down properly, and you lower your hands to his hair again, twirling it lazily as he tugs the top of your jeans and your pants down to the top of your thighs. There's a thrill, like walking into a cool pool, as your cock springs out into the cold night air. There's even more of a thrill as Mary slides his fingers beneath your shaft, reaching to press on your taint with two fingertips before massaging you with quick, circling motions.

'So hard for me. Perfect. I guess you have more of a thing for death than you thought.'

'It's your bad influence, you …' But you can't think of the word for him: he's taking the head of your cock into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, and any rational though is swept away by waves of new pleasure. You're already sensitive and the direct contact from the tip of this expert tongue is building up heat right in the bottom of your abdomen. ' _Shit._ Fuck. Mary …'

He palms your balls and begins a steady massaging, matching the movement with the fingertips that are still pressing against your taint, and each tiny, tantalising motion brings a little whine for more from your throat. You lean back against the tree trunk, allowing it to take as much of your weight as possible so that you can concentrate, wholly and completely, on the arousal that's charging up fast. It naturally pushes you up into his mouth slightly further: your cock twitches and he feels it, taking the cue to take even more of it into his mouth. You wring your hands tighter into his hair, almost unconsciously push him down a little further, and he sucks his tongue hard against your shaft before starting to move his head with the rhythm he's got going everywhere else. Three erogenous zones, all at once … your orgasm threatens and you need it to hit just right so it's as fucking good as it can possibly be. 'So fucking … _ugh._ ' Your voice is strangled and high-pitched and you wish you could get words out but how the fuck can you think straight when he's hitting your sweet spot so beautifully?

Mary knows. He pulls his hand away from your balls to hold you tight against the willow by your waist, then slowly takes you even further into your mouth, your head pushing the back of his throat. You can hear him taking deep breaths through his nose, feel his saliva building around you … you resist the urge to thrust, relinquishing full control so he's comfortable – and so your pleasure is in his hands. He sucks, keeping the pressure on your taint and sliding his tongue down so that the very tip is licking your balls …

The stimulation, from so many angles, merges into an orgasm that racks your entire body. ' _Mary … fuck …_ '

Your cum shoots right down his throat, and you feel him contract around your cock as he swallows every drop of it. Only when you stop convulsing does he emerge, gasping for breath and moving his other hand to your waist to support you as you come down: he leans back, stares up at you, and licks his lips.

'Mmm. _Fuck_. You have the most … delicious cock.'

You can only gaze at him from under half-closed lids, lips parted. 'Mary …'

'I need to come inside you.' He starts to stand up, and you're amazed there isn't a gigantic tear in the front of his jeans to match the one at the back, the way his cock is straining. It's hard to see in the darkness but you're sure there's already a wet patch there, too, from his excitement. 'Will you let me come inside you?'

'You come wherever you fucking well want, Mary,' you mumble. You're still tired, still coming down, and you need him to have his pleasure since he's bestowed so much upon you already. 'On me, in me … do it.'

You do gather yourself enough to help him out of his jeans, his leaking cock drawing new arousal where you thought you were spent. He's going slightly feral now: he takes your shoulders roughly then twirls you around to push you against the willow, fumbling at your jeans to make sure they're down far enough, then fingering your entrance. He slips two fingers inside you, and it's tight without lube, but you're still sensitive to him from your orgasm and you whimper in pleasure as he finds your prostate and curls into you, over and over, for a few moments.

'You OK?' he grunts, and you nod. You raise your arms, bracing yourself against the tree trunk, and he withdraws his own hand. You hear an enthusiastic hawking noise, and the wet splash of saliva on his palm.

'Vile,' you mumble, and he laughs. You can't see him, but you can picture him, glinting green eyes as he rubs his spit all over his erect cock. 'You've done far more vile things for me, baby,' he says.

You have to give him that one.

He pushes the head of his cock into you, gives you a moment to adjust, then starts to push in further. You brace, and he grips your hips to take a tentative thrust or two. 'Still good?' he says. You nod again, and he tries another thrust: this one hits deeper. ' _Yes_.' There's still sensitivity there, and you whimper in pleasure as he picks up the pace, pressing his body to you. You're fairly sure he's not in full control of himself any more, driven by the lust that sucking you off brought forth in him – then his shallow breath's in your ear, and he's biting down on your neck, and you don't stop him, simply crying out at the sweet sharpness. He keeps his teeth in place for a moment, sucking on you before letting you go to kiss you wetly instead.

'Fuck … I'm so close …' He gasps. 'Give me something …'

He needs talking through his orgasm. 'Come on, Mary,' you say. 'I need to feel your hot cum inside me …'

'Mm. More.'

'I need it s _o,_ so badly. Fill me up, right here in this graveyard. Among the dead –'

That does it. Mary lets out a strangled grunt into your shoulder as he shoots his load up your ass, holding you in place for a second before desperately rutting out his aftershock then collapsing against you, chin slumped on your shoulder. You take your hands off the tree and find a loose hold on him behind you. He's warm, after all, still almost fully dressed against your bare back. He nuzzles into you and returns your embrace. He must have remembered your state of undress.

'OK?' you whisper, and he nods, a sleepy 'mm-hmm' escaping but not words. You twist your face around, kiss his elegant jawline.

It takes him a moment, but he does eventually pull out of you. You can't help but giggle at the cursory frown he gives his now-flaccid cock before shrugging and tucking himself back into his jeans. 'Fuck,' he mumbles. 'That's … ugh.'

'Soggy?' You're fastening up your own jeans, and you know the feeling.

'Just a bit.' He peers behind him. 'Let's get you dressed, baby.'

He goes to retrieve your discarded clothes himself. It might be the first time Mary's shown you this much care and attention as he's putting clothes back on you, and you have to admit, it's pretty sweet. He even fastens the buttons on your shirt – the ones he didn't break, anyway. When he's done, he bites his lip, gazing down at your collarbone.

'What is it? You've not mismatched them all, have you?' You're not sure how much longer you can stand here without your coat now that Mary's radiator body isn't pushed against you to heat you up any more.

He shakes his head. 'It's just … fuck. I'm sorry. I've bitten you too high up, you can … you can see it.'

You bend your neck awkwardly – he's right. There's a fruity purple love bite right above the collar of your shirt, and there are no buttons left to fasten up over it.

You meet his eyes, glaring in mock fury. He has the decency to hang his head.

'Mary,' you say, 'go and bring me my camera.'

He does as you say, sheepishly. He even manages to turn it off and put it back in its bag.

'I'm sorry,' he says again. 'I wasn't thinking. I got totally carried away, I was just so …'

'I know.' You lean in to kiss him. 'It's a good thing I was so …' You gesture vaguely, and he gives you a reluctant smile. 'Too. But there's no way I'm turning up to Alex's looking like this. We aren't posh village material right now. Not to mention you've got a cum stain on your already foul jeans.'

At this, he looks proud of himself. 'That's how horny you make me,' he says. 'Especially letting me fuck you in a graveyard. I know that's definitely more my thing than yours … so thank you. So much.'

Another kiss. This one's slower, at his direction, surprisingly. You barely move away from him when the two of you break apart.

'D'you want to see the pictures?' you say, and he nods. You dive back into your camera bag and turn the thing on, switching it to Play mode for a slideshow of moody, dramatic Marys. He does look very much in his element here.

Then you, with him. His jaws around your neck.

'Mmm.' You're finding it difficult to take your eyes off this one. 'We do look ...'

'Perfect,' he offers. 'Like a fuckin' ... vampire movie. I love it.'

With reluctance, you turn the camera off to put it away again.

'It says a lot that I'd do that in a public graveyard,' you say. 'For you. I think we maybe need to go home and finish that discussion on whether or not I can finally call you my boyfriend, don't you?'

He raises an eyebrow. 'What're you gonna tell Alex?'

You shrug. 'I'll say you're ill. I mean – you are one sick fuck.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love any sort of feedback on how this setup worked for you! This was my first time writing Mary and more importantly my first time writing smut in this way.


	3. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the chapter title explains it all I guess

'Good.' He dives to your chest, and this time he doesn't give a shit about taking care with your shirt. You feel at least one of your buttons pop off as he rips it open, exposing your entire torso. You moan as he kisses the space in-between your tits, burying his face in them. 'Oh, baby. Tell me if you get too cold.'

You barely hear him, his words muffled by the soft flesh on your chest. 'I'm fine,' you breathe. 'I just … the party …'

'Oh, fuck the party. We turn up whenever and tell them we got lost …' His hands nudge at your arms. You still have your hands in his hair, but you move them for a second so he can help you shrug off your shirt. He tosses it onto the nearest gravestone before expertly unhooking your bra and throwing that to one side, too. It's less than a second before he's sucked a nipple hard into his mouth, and you let out another little hiss. His warm, wet mouth is welcome respite from the chilly night air, and that's not to mention how hard your nipples are already.

'Fuck,' you say, and you're pretty sure you're admitting defeat. 'Bite me. Mary. Please …'

He tuts. 'Swearing in a _graveyard_ ...'

He needs no more encouragement. It stings, and you know the mark is going to be angry as fuck, but once you're dressed again only the two of you will know it's there. ' _Yes_ …'

He pulls away slightly, a purr in his throat. 'Oh, yeah, that's it,' he says. 'Bruising up perfectly for me already.' He pulls you tight into his jacket again, hands back at your waist, mouth back on yours. You get the impression he's taking a moment to make sure you're warm enough, and it's appreciated: you can't tell him how much when your tongue is dancing with his, but you can rub one hand over his crotch, massaging his growing erection so that he moans into your mouth. You keep stroking. You've seen his cock a thousand times, taken it in every orifice you have that you can think of, but there's still something extra tantalising about the way it feels through his jeans. The mystery, the anticipation of the whole thing. Especially outside and especially at night.

There's a sudden urge to check you aren't being watched – you twist away from him, glancing around the graveyard, and Mary frowns. 'You OK?'

'Fine,' you say. 'I just – oh, it doesn't matter …'

'Hey. It does.'

He doesn't need to ask. He just guides you both beneath the willow branches, hidden from view. Even if there was someone else in the graveyard they would have to be seriously looking if they were going to notice you now, and it does put your mind at ease. And, as much as you know Mary would never admit it, it does the same for him, too. You feel it in the urgency he pushes you back against the tree trunk with, pinning your wrists up above your shoulders with one hand as he moves to kiss you again. First on your mouth, then jaw, neck, chest … hovering at each breast to give each nipple attention … there's just about enough of a stretch in his arm for him to bend his knees and, with his free hand, unfasten the front of your jeans.

'Fuck … Mary …'

Holding you in place is too awkward. He releases your arms so he can kneel down properly, and you lower your hands to his hair again, twirling it lazily as he tugs the top of your jeans and your pants down to the top of your thighs. There's a thrill, like walking into a cool pool, as the cold night air tickles your damp folds. There's even more of a thrill as Mary slicks his fingers through them, licking the residue with appreciative _mm_ noises.

'So wet for me. Perfect. I guess you have more of a thing for death than you thought.'

'It's your bad influence, you …' But you can't think of the word for him: he's circling your clit with his tongue and any rational thought is swept away by waves of new pleasure. You're already tingling and the direct contact from the tip of this expert tongue is building up heat right in the bottom of your abdomen. ' _Shit._ Fuck. Mary …'

He wraps an arm around one of your thighs and guides it onto his shoulder, giving him more room to slide a finger underneath you, then up into your pussy. Matching the movement with his tongue, he curls his finger to massage your g-spot, and each tiny, tantalising motion brings a little whine for more from your throat. You lean back against the tree trunk, allowing that and Mary's shoulder to take your weight so that you can concentrate, wholly and completely, on the arousal that's charging up fast. Your pussy is twitching around him and he feels it, taking the cue to slip another finger inside you. You wring your hands tighter into his hair, almost unconsciously push your hips forward, increasing the pressure of his tongue on your throbbing clit. Your orgasm threatens and you need it to hit just right so it's as fucking good as it can possibly be. 'So fucking … _ugh._ ' Your voice is strangled and high-pitched and you wish you could get words out but how the fuck can you think straight when he's hitting your sweet spot so beautifully?

Mary knows. He slips his tongue downwards, just inside your folds, and licks from underneath, so tight to your body that his nose is pressing on you from above. You moan with every movement, each one bringing you closer and closer to your climax. The stimulation on your g-spot and your clit seem to be trying to merge, and when they do …

' _Mary … fuck …_ '

You're contracting around him and he quickens his pace, massaging you through your orgasm as you moan and convulse in his hands. Only when you stop trembling and start twitching does he emerge, gasping for breath, to gently lower your leg back to the ground when he's sure you can stand on it. He leans back, stares up at you, and licks his lips.

'Mmm. _Fuck_. You have the most … delicious pussy.'

You can only gaze at him from under half-closed lids, lips parted. 'Mary …'

'I need to come inside it.' He starts to stand up, and you're amazed there isn't a gigantic tear in the front of his jeans to match the one at the back, the way his cock is straining. It's hard to see in the darkness but you're sure there's already a wet patch there, too, from his excitement. 'Will you let me come inside you?'

'You come wherever you fucking well want, Mary,' you mumble. You're still tired, still coming down, and you need him to have his pleasure since he's bestowed so much upon you already. 'On me, in me … do it.'

You do gather yourself enough to help him out of his jeans, his leaking cock drawing new arousal where you thought you were spent. He's going slightly feral now: he pushes you back against the willow, hand down at his cock to guide it inside you even as you adjust your body to the new position. Your still-dripping pussy takes him in with ease and he gives a tentative thrust or two, grunting each time.

'Hm.' He pauses to pick up your thigh again, helping you to wrap it around his waist, then tries another thrust: this one hits deeper. ' _Yes_.' You're still sensitive to him from your orgasm, and you whimper in pleasure as he picks up the pace. You wrap your arms around him loosely, and he pushes his face into your neck again and moans against you – you're fairly sure he's not in full control of himself any more, driven by the lust that eating you out brought forth in him – then he's biting down, and you don't stop him, simply crying out at the sweet sharpness. He keeps his teeth in place for a moment, sucking on you before letting you go to kiss you wetly instead.

'Fuck … I'm so close …' He gasps. 'Give me something …'

You pull his face to your chest: he needs talking through his orgasm. 'Come on, Mary,' you say. 'I need to feel your hot cum inside me …'

'Mm. More.'

'I need it s _o,_ so badly. Fill me up, right here in this graveyard. Among the dead –'

That does it. Mary lets out a strangled grunt into your tits as he shoots his load up your pussy, holding you in place for a second before desperately rutting out his aftershock then collapsing against you, face buried between your tits. You tighten your hold on him. He's warm, after all, still almost fully dressed against your bare chest. He nuzzles into you and returns your embrace. He must have remembered your state of undress.

'OK?' you whisper, and he nods, a sleepy 'mm-hmm' escaping but not words. You bend down, kiss the top of his head while avoiding the bits of his hair that are slick with far too much gel.

It takes him a moment, but he does eventually pull out of you. You can't help but giggle at the cursory frown he gives his now-flaccid, damp cock before shrugging and tucking himself back into his jeans. 'Fuck,' he mumbles. 'That's … ugh.'

'Soggy?' You're fastening up your own jeans, and you know the feeling.

'Just a bit.' He peers behind him. 'Let's get you dressed, baby.'

He goes to retrieve your discarded clothes himself. It might be the first time Mary's shown you this much care and attention as he's putting clothes back on you, and you have to admit, it's pretty sweet. He even fastens the buttons on your shirt – the ones he didn't break, anyway. When he's done, he bites his lip, gazing down at your collarbone.

'What is it? You've not mismatched them all, have you?' You're not sure how much longer you can stand here without your coat now that Mary's radiator body isn't pushed against you to heat you up any more.

He shakes his head. 'It's just … fuck. I'm sorry. I've bitten you too high up, you can … you can see it.'

You bend your neck awkwardly – he's right. There's a fruity purple love bite right above the collar of your shirt, and there are no buttons left to fasten up over it.

You meet his eyes, glaring in mock fury. He has the decency to hang his head.

'Mary,' you say, 'go and bring me my camera.'

He does as you say, sheepishly. He even manages to turn it off and put it back in its bag.

'I'm sorry,' he says again. 'I wasn't thinking. I got totally carried away, I was just so …'

'I know.' You lean in to kiss him. 'It's a good thing I was so …' You gesture vaguely, and he gives you a reluctant smile. 'Too. But there's no way I'm turning up to Alex's looking like this. We aren't posh village material right now. Not to mention you've got a cum stain on your already foul jeans.'

At this, he looks proud of himself. 'That's how horny you make me,' he says. 'Especially letting me fuck you in a graveyard. I know that's definitely more my thing than yours … so thank you. So much.'

Another kiss. This one's slower, at his direction, surprisingly. You barely move away from him when the two of you break apart.

'D'you want to see the pictures?' you say, and he nods. You dive back into your camera bag and turn the thing on, switching it to Play mode for a slideshow of moody, dramatic Marys. He does look very much in his element here.

Then you, with him. His jaws around your neck.

'Mmm.' You're finding it difficult to take your eyes off this one. 'We do look ...'

'Perfect,' he offers. 'Like a fuckin' ... vampire movie. I love it.'

With reluctance, you turn the camera off to put it away again.

'It says a lot that I'd do that in a public graveyard,' you say. 'For you. I think we maybe need to go home and finish that discussion on whether or not I can finally call you my boyfriend, don't you?'

He raises an eyebrow. 'What're you gonna tell Alex?'

You shrug. 'I'll say you're ill. I mean – you are one sick fuck.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love any sort of feedback on how this setup worked for you! This was my first time writing Mary and more importantly my first time writing smut in this way.


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